


All The While

by spockandawe



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: First Time, Frottage, Illustrated, M/M, POV Second Person, Robot Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 12:27:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5334068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spockandawe/pseuds/spockandawe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“<em>Cyclonus—</em>”</p><p>                You barely have time to brace yourself before Tailgate crashes into you, throwing his arms around your neck. You can hardly support yourself as it is, and despite your best efforts, your legs buckle, and you go to your knees.</p><p>Tailgate makes no move to release you. You consider, for a moment, pushing him away. This is an unseemly display, undignified, unnecessary— He presses his faceplate against your shoulder.</p><p>                “I thought you were dead, Cyclonus, I thought you were <em>dead—</em>”</p>
            </blockquote>





	All The While

                “ _Cyclonus—_ ”

                You barely have time to brace yourself before Tailgate crashes into you, throwing his arms around your neck. You can hardly support yourself as it is, and despite your best efforts, your legs buckle, and you go to your knees.

Tailgate makes no move to release you. You consider, for a moment, pushing him away. This is an unseemly display, undignified, unnecessary— He presses his faceplate against your shoulder.

                “I thought you were dead, Cyclonus, I thought you were _dead—_ ”

                You can hear how loudly his fans are running, can feel how tightly he’s clinging to you. You frightened him. You hesitate for a moment longer, and it is shameful how uncertain your movements are as you finally slide your arms around him and cradle him against you.

                And then, you are lost. It’s too easy to stay here, to stay like this. You don’t want to consider what needs to be done. You don’t want to worry, don’t want to plan, to act, to fight. It’s so simple to kneel here, like this. With him. Tailgate makes no move to break away. And neither do you.

                His face is still against your shoulder. That’s for the best. It’s better that he doesn’t have the chance to look you over properly. As it is, his fingers shift against the back of your head, brush against a hole in your plating, and you can feel him flinch. You should have a medic attend to you before Tailgate sees the full extent of the damage. You should. You still don’t move.

                The four acts, you think. The four acts. You need to ask him. What had he been trying to tell you? What had he been trying to ask? You pull back—not far, barely, only enough for you to look him in the eye when you speak. And the words simply do not come.

                Tailgate is watching you. “Cyclonus?” You can’t answer him. The words freeze in you before you can force them out. You don’t even know what you want to ask him. You don’t know what to _do_. One of his hands moves to cup your cheek. He tugs you forward, and it’s the barest shift, but suddenly you are the one being held, and you can’t find it in you to resist him.

                His voice is soft. “Hey, hey, we’re okay, right?” You give in and let yourself fall forward, until your head rests against his. He holds you close against him. “I’m okay. You’re okay. We’re _okay_.”

                It’s so easy to stay. Like this. With him. To lose yourself in the way his thumb brushes over and over your cheek. Your arms are secure around him, and his around you. If you couldn’t force yourself to break away from him before, now you can’t even bring yourself to wish that you _could_ do so. You listen to his fans turning, slower than before, less uneasy, and let yourself realize over and over that he’s still alive, and against all odds, so are you.

                You aren’t expecting it when his hand drops from your face and moves slowly, but surely, down your chest. It startles you enough that you say, “Tailgate—” before you catch yourself.

                It’s enough to make him pause and pull back. You loosen your arms to allow him. Reluctantly. But you will not hold him against his will. He doesn’t go far, and you are unbecomingly grateful for it. One of his hands still rests on your chest, the other on your shoulder, but you are still uncomfortably aware of the new distance between you.

                He breaks the silence first. “No?” He laughs, uneasily. Have you made him uneasy? “Ha, _wow_ , guess I must have read that wrong. I—sorry, I’ll just—“

                He’s pulling away further, bracing to stand. You still don’t know what you should say, what you should do—But you don’t want him to go. Before he can leave, you catch his hand in yours. You’re both frozen for a long moment, and all you can hear is the whirring of his fans, before he laughs—properly this time—and leans in towards you again. “Oh,” he says. “ _Oh_.”

                You don’t release his hand. It’s too much, being here like this. With him. Feeling him shift, feeling his fingers interlace with yours. The pressure on your hand as he holds you. It’s too much for you to surrender it. His other hand goes back to your chest. He runs his fingers along your vents, along the seam below your chest plate. It drifts lower. You can feel how closely Tailgate is watching you when he asks, “…is this okay?”

                You stop yourself before you nod. He… deserves better than that. More than that. Your grip on his hand tightens. You take a bare moment to steel your nerves, to ensure your voice is steady. “Please.”

                When his hand drops to your spike casing, you can’t help shuddering. His palm presses against your casing, tentative pressure. Uncertain. He hasn’t done this before. You can’t move your eyes from his face. You should be taking the lead, moving more slowly. You, you should—When he runs a finger further back, along your valve, you can feel lubrication drip down your thighs, and your spike slips out in a single smooth rush.

                The sensation is almost too much. Your eyes drop to his hand as it wraps around you, and it is difficult to force yourself to look away. When you raise your head again, Tailgate is watching you. You let yourself smile. For him. He laughs, delighted. You… don’t quite laugh. But you fight the urge to duck your head as the smile spreads wider across your face.

                You pull his hand from you before you can overload. Not yet. Not without him. Instead you ease him onto his back on the floor, bracing yourself over him. You intend to take this slowly. To savor it. That resolution does not last for long. It lasts as you tease at his valve with your claws, gentle as you know how to be, and as careful as you can manage while he grabs for your arms and arches off the floor. It lasts when his spike begins to drip lubrication, beading at the tip of his spike, and sliding down, over his legs, and down to the floor. What breaks you is the noises he makes as you run your fingers along his spike, brushing them over the tip, the way he says your name as he wraps his arms around your neck and clings to you.

                It’s too much, it is entirely too much to bear. You want—you want to be in him, you want it badly, but. Not now. Not until you’re certain you can be careful, until you’re sure you won’t hurt him. Instead you brace yourself against the floor with one hand, gather him against you with the other, and grind your spike down against his.

                You almost overload at that first contact. You push it back, but it isn’t easy, the slide of his spike against yours, the way you can feel him dripping against you. His legs come up around your waist, pressing into your sides. He buries his face against your shoulder as you rock against him. One of his hands drops from your neck, but it’s only so he can cup your cheek. He raises his eyes to meet yours, and he’s repeating your name, over and over, and you’re so close, but you want to wait, for, for him—

                His head falls back as the overload hits him, and you can feel him shaking against you. It’s enough. It’s more than enough. You clutch him against your chest as the overload takes you, his legs tight around your waist and his hand gentle on your cheek. You come back to yourself with him still holding you close, his hands still on you, making no move to pull away. Even when you have to break away to turn and lie on the floor next to him, he takes your hand in his as soon as you’ve settled. You watch as his fingers wrap around yours.

                “We’re okay,” he whispers.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://spockandawe.tumblr.com/post/134381733201/kingdom-noise-said-cyclonustailgate-first-time)


End file.
